My 13-year-old daughter recently began asking some of the big cosmic questions that the philosophers have pondered forever, such as: If God is all-powerful, how come he didn't make her hair straighter?

I explain that life is an eternal mystery that we will only decipher after we've left it behind. But, meanwhile, I have a few more prosaic questions that I ponder regularly myself, especially late at night when I can't sleep:

How is it that my son, Cheetah Boy, is doing better this year in his Spanish class than in English--his native tongue?

Why do adolescent children sit in the same room and text each other?

Why do my kids only want to talk to me when I pick up the phone and call someone else?

Why would a 14-year-old boy sweep around a clump of dirt the size of a Chihuahua instead of removing it?

Why do kids who gobble down bags of Hot Cheetos turn around and complain that milder real food is "too spicy?"

Where do all the spoons, forks and scissors in my house go when they vanish from the kitchen drawers?

How many people a day notice that I talk to myself everywhere I go, like a bag lady?

Why do kids happily spend twice as long arguing over whether they should do a chore than it would take to just do it?

Why do my kids demand I knock on their doors before entering, while they barge into my room and bathroom without notice?

Who is this old person I see when I look in the mirror, because it certainly isn't me?

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